


Splenda Daddy

by jellybeanforest



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Comedy, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Good Intentions But Terrible Execution, GotG Kinkmeme Prompt, Miscommunication, Parent Yondu Udonta, comedic misunderstandings, dadYondu, guardians as family, protective rocket, ravagers as family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 19:08:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12990612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellybeanforest/pseuds/jellybeanforest
Summary: Peter must have very low self-esteem to accept an arrangement such as this.Prompt fill for LJ GotG Kinkmeme: Yondu thinks being a hero is not a lucrative career for his boy. So, after Xandar, he sends Peter petty cash and care packages, just small things to make sure the kid stays alive. The Guardians notice and mistake fatherly affection for an especially cheap sugar-daddy relationship. Hilarity ensues.





	1. Ah Sugar, Ah Honey Honey

The first time Peter Quill runs away, he is ten years old. He had broken Yondu’s favorite trinket on the console of his M-ship when he took a hard left turn during his first flying lesson. Having angered the mercurial captain, Peter is convinced he is already one foot in the stewpot, so the day of his escape, he makes an inventory of everything of value to him not currently on his person. These items include an old shirt, a Troll doll, his mother’s last gift, his stash of sweet ration bars, and a blaster. He carefully packs his meagre possessions in a worn backpack and hides it away in the vents. That night, before evening mess, he stows away on Tullk’s M-ship heading towards the planet Sakaar. He is halfway there before the captain comms all M-ships, alerting them to Quill’s absence. Tullk soon discovers the boy in the cargo hold, hiding behind a large crate, and brings him back, wasting a day’s work in the process. Yondu makes a show of beating Quill then grounding him, welding all the vents in his room shut for good measure. Quill screams that he hates Yondu, that he wishes he were dead. He vows to escape, leading to another three aborted attempts over the next five years. Eventually, Quill grows accustomed to the Ravager lifestyle as Yondu gives him a bit more freedom. He even grows to consider the Eclector “home” in a way.

The last time Peter Quill runs away, he succeeds. He is 34.

At that advanced age, perhaps “runs away” is the wrong term.

 

“Tha’s it. Quill’s cut off!” Yondu rages to Kraglin, “No more help, financial or otherwise. Strike his name from the rosters!”

Initially, when Yondu had opened the orb to find that Terran tchotchke, he had been impressed. His boy had some brass balls to steal a four billion credit score out from under him. It had been a daring, clever move Yondu hadn’t seen coming. He swelled with pride that the boy was finally putting all he had taught him to good use. If Quill could do that, he’d be just fine walking the starways solo. After all, when you raise a brat, independence is always the goal. Then, he received reports that Quill _gave_ the orb to Nova Prime without so much as a damned red cent in return. What the fuck had Quill been thinking?

“Next time the boy’s in a jam, his new team can bail ‘im out!”

“Yes, sir.” Kraglin concentrates on sharpening his knives and frowns at a particularly large chink in one of the blades. He may have to replace that one. He’s barely listening to Yondu’s diatribe. It won’t last. Pete will come home, and Yondu will slap him around a bit but ultimately forgive him. After all, it wasn’t the first time the boy had run away.

“I mean it. Cut off!”

 

* * *

**One month later**

The Guardians are on Xandar when the first package arrives by courier for Peter. They had just completed a week-long job and were only going to be planet-side for a couple more days. The others had gone out for supplies, which left Rocket to accept and inspect the package. It is small and light, wrapped in plain brown paper with a poorly-scrawled label indicating it was for Peter Quill of the Milano. The last five locations at which they had stopped were sloppily marked as forwarding addresses. It would be innocuous if not for one detail.

“Don’t touch it!” Rocket slaps the potted baby Groot’s eager hands away from the package.

“I am Groot.” Groot argues.

“It’s probably booby-trapped.”

Despite his protests, Rocket is still a raccoon, with the animal instincts and advantages of his original species. As such, he retains his discerning sense of smell and vast scent memory. Despite passing through five ports, the package has the faint, but unmistakable, stench of Ravager.

Rocket passes a scanner over the package… Hmmm, it contains no metal, but that doesn’t rule out plastic explosives. His best option is a controlled detonation of the device away from the ship. It’s small, so the blast radius must not be that wide. Perhaps it was only built to blow off the recipient’s hands. He won’t have to go too far to dispose of it. Rocket delicately picks up the package and walks on soft padded feet down the ramp out the Milano. _Careful. Careful._ He places it on the ground some distance away and rigs up the remote-controlled explosives. Once satisfied the suspicious package will be destroyed with little collateral damage to the surrounding area, he retreats back to the Milano, ducks behind a metal cabinet with Groot, arms the explosives, and at Groot’s insistence, lets him push the big red button.

Afterwards, when Rocket examines the wreckage, he notes the lack of non-metal ball bearings and other shrapnel found in most bombs designed for maximum damage. Rather, there are only singed scraps of leather and wool carpeting the area around the blast site. If Rocket didn’t know any better, he’d say he just blew up a package of clothing, possibly socks and some gloves.

The second package is a little larger than the first. Before Rocket can examine and disarm it, Peter tears off the brown paper packaging and cuts open the box. Rocket tackles Groot to the ground, closing his eyes and bracing for the explosion he is certain will tear through the Milano. It never comes.

“Oh hey, these are my favorite.” Peter says, pulling out sweet ration bars. He rips open the wrapper of one and bites into it before Rocket can protest.

“Wait! Stop that you idiot!”

“…What?” Peter says through a mouthful of sweet.

“Those could be poisoned.”

Peter takes another bite. _Chomp._ “Don’t taste poisoned to me. I was going to share, but if you don’t want any…” _Chomp._ Peter picks up the box and carries it to his room, guarding it as if Rocket would want any of his probably-definitely-poisoned bars.

 _That idiot,_ Rocket thinks. But other than a slight bellyache from too many sweets, Peter seems just fine later that night.

By the third package, even Gamora thinks there might be something unusual about Peter and Yondu’s relationship.

When Peter tears into it, he pulls out a long string of condoms and a few tubes of slick. A note falls out of the reel of prophylactics. Having no respect for Quill’s privacy, Rocket picks up the note and reads: “Use protection, Quill. No bringing any brats or VD back to the Eclector.”

“Hey, that’s private!” Peter snatches the scrap of paper from Rocket and returns it to the box.

“Hah! Hah! Hah! Quill is notoriously promiscuous.” Drax laughs, before heading towards the kitchen to prepare lunch.

“Hey, I’m not… I don’t do that casual stuff anymore. It’s not a good basis for a lasting relationship. Yeah…” Peter fumbles, meekly glancing at Gamora. She gives him her best poker face. She’s not buying it. He picks up the package and slinks to his room to deposit it with the other box.

Gamora is the first to break the ensuing silence, “So… do you think there is something a bit… off about the relationship between Peter and his old mentor?”

Rocket looks up at Gamora. “You mean, do I think they’re fucking? Most definitely.”

The thought of anyone fucking either that ugly hairless asshole or his equally-hideous blue ex-boss makes Rocket cringe, but the two of them together… he pulls a face. There’s not nearly enough alcohol on the ship to bleach that mental image from his brain. It’s twisted, but Rocket always knew Quill had issues. However, their relationship develops a rather sinister edge with a later revelation.

“What’s that look for? Your favorite porn channel put up a paywall?” Rocket attempts to decipher Peter’s irritated expression.

“No, I’m just checking my bank balance.”

“And it’s a little lighter than you expected? Don’t look at me. You’re the one who keeps blowing your money on Terran battery packs for your Walkman. I keep telling you that you should let me take it apart. Maybe figure out how to turn that thing solar.” Peter never lets anyone touch his Walkman. Rocket had considered stealing it in his sleep, but he is not particularly suicidal.

“I am Groot.”

“No, buying more potted plants isn’t a better use of money,” Rocket shakes his head at the little tree. Maybe Groot is getting bored sitting in his pot all day. He should be sprouting legs soon, and then he’ll be walking. Rocket shudders at the thought of the havoc a mobile baby Groot could wreak. He should savor this time when the tree is relatively low-maintenance.

“I am Groot!”

Before an argument can break out, Peter clarifies, “No, no, it’s not that. I think Yondu transferred 20 credits to my account again. It’s something he used to do when I was with the Ravagers, but I don’t need his money anymore.”

That adds quite a different dimension to the already-fucked up relationship between the two. Was Yondu paying Quill for side benefits? Putting that aside to mull over later… 20 credits? Dammit, Quill’s no looker, but he could do better than that. He must have unusually low self-esteem to accept an arrangement such as this. Rocket supposes that maybe the Guardians (i.e. Rocket) have been a bit harsh on him. Perhaps their gentle, and not-so-gentle, ribbing has not helped the situation.

“Hey Quill, you know you’re not half bad, right?”

“Yeah, I know. I’m clearly fantastic.”

Rocket never noticed before, but Quill’s loud veneer of confidence rings hollow, as if he is trying to overcompensate for his low self-worth. How could he have not seen it before?

“Yeah, sure… Hey Quill, did you bathe recently? You smell less repulsive than normal.”

“At least I don’t smell like wet dog straight out of the shower.” Quill sounds offended.

“Hey, I’m trying to give you a compliment here! You usually smell like the ass-end of a bilgesnipe, but today you smell slightly less disgusting. You’re welcome!” Rocket is putting so much effort into his boost-Quill’s-confidence plan, but the asshole is being so resistant and unappreciative.

“That’s your version of a compliment?” Quill asks, incredulous. Rocket’s a bit rough around the edges, but this is ridiculous.

“I am Groot?” Groot tentatively asks.

“Lying is okay sometimes if it makes the other person feel better,” Rocket explains. Socializing the little tree is going to be a challenge when he can’t grasp basic social niceties. Quill stretches to covertly smell his armpit, then grimaces, quickly putting his arms back down.

Huh, maybe raising Quill’s self-esteem is going to be harder than Rocket anticipated. It would help if Quill was attractive, smart, or talented in any aspect that mattered. (Rocket doesn’t count the ability to dance like an idiot like no one’s watching and having no shame as positive attributes.) Sadly, not everyone can be cute, intelligent, articulate, and competent like Rocket. He is just going to have to dig deep and mine some kernel of high aptitude, some redeeming quality, with which to compliment Quill.

“That a new mustache? It’s nice. It don’t look at all like a caterpillar is trying to escape your nose and failing.”

Peter self-consciously pats his upper lip.

_Oh boy. This is going to be tougher than I thought._

Rocket doesn’t like asking for help, but he considers it later that evening. He’s been trying all day to lift Quill’s self-esteem and nothing seems to work. In fact, the man appears to become even more visibly deflated as time passes. Perhaps spending more time with Rocket enables Quill to take down his defenses a bit, to let his true feelings of self-loathing shine through that false bravado wearing thin. Rocket needs to send for reinforcements, to call in the big guns.

“Gamora, can you flirt with Quill a bit? He’s having a tough life.”

“No.” Gamora is leaning against the door frame, reading her holopad. She doesn’t even look up to answer.

“C’mon, he’s our friend, and he really needs this.” Rocket hates begging.

“How would flirting with Peter help him?” She rolls her eyes as she puts her holopad away. She sets her hands on her hips and quirks a skeptical eyebrow at him. This better be good.

Rocket needs to come clean about Quill’s embarrassing, poorly-concealed secret… for his own good, of course.

“Okay, okay. Look, I found out that Yondu is Quill’s sugar daddy.”

Gamora crosses her arms. Really, if Rocket is going to lie to trick her into one of Quill’s seduction schemes, then at least make up something credible. She briefly wonders what Quill promised Rocket for his part in this half-baked plan. Maybe a new plasma core or exclusive piloting rights on their next mission.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Shocking, I know. Why would _anyone_ pay Quill for sex?” Rocket shrugs. He supposes there’s no accounting for taste.

He continues. “Anyways, Blue’s been sending him money and stuff to entice him back, but he’s being real cheap about it, like bottom-basement one-credit hooker cheap. Quill must have really, and I mean _really_ , low self-esteem,” Rocket rubs his elbow and rolls his eyes. “I’ve been complimenting him all day, but it’s not working. He just seems so depressed. I think it would really help if it came from you because… well, you know, it’s not exactly a secret he wants to bang you.”

“I’m not sleeping with Peter,” she deadpans.

“I’m not saying you should, _buuut_ not saying you shouldn’t either,” Rocket puts up his paws at Gamora’s murderous look. “Just… Tell him the thought of bumping uglies with him is not completely nauseating to you. You know. Lie. Maybe if he didn’t think he was garbage, he wouldn’t sell his body for 20 credits and a couple sweet ration bars.”

Gamora rolls her eyes. Really, this was laying it on a little thick. She’s not falling for something so obvious.

The next day at breakfast, Peter is practically wilting into his morning porridge. Drax’s cooking skills are subpar, but Gamora doubts that’s what’s got him so down.

“Peter, during the last job when you flew through that Kree horde and made it to the jump point… that was pretty impressive,” Gamora says. Peter visibly perks up.

Rocket closes his eyes and shakes his head into a paw. Quill is a shit pilot. That’s a hard fact. Compliments need to come from a place of truth. Outright lies are too obvious and kind of patronizing. Who would have thought Gamora was so terrible at this? He really should have asked Groot instead.

 

* * *

 

The following week, the Guardians are celebrating yet another successful mission the best way they know how: By getting drunk off their asses at a local dive. It’s a fine establishment with barely any Hepatitis on most surfaces, or so Peter assures them. The booze is bad, but cheap and plentiful, which is really the only measure by which he gauges a bar’s quality. He hasn’t ordered the eighth round yet, so when a waiter with a slightly-singed unibrow drops off a single glass of rotgut with a tiny pink umbrella sticking out the top, Peter is perplexed.

“Wha’s this?” Peter slurs.

“Compliments of the gentleman in the corner,” The waiter answers.

The Guardians look over to see Yondu sitting alone, no other Ravagers in sight. When Peter meets his eye, Yondu raises his glass to him with a snaggle-toothed grin. Peter’s face drops. He turns back around, places an elbow on the table, clutches his forehead, and groans.

“He asked for something called a Mah-tinny, shaken not stirred. Said it was your favorite,” The waiter elaborates, ignoring Peter’s look of discomfort.

Peter opens his eyes to stare at the frothy, yellowed drink with bits of floating sediment. It looks exactly the same as the drinks they had been chugging all night.

“This’s not a martini.”

“Sir, we have no idea what that is. The man didn’t know what it was either, but he said we should just make you our ‘girliest shit’,” the waiter draws air quotes around the phrase. “And you’d probably like it. He was insistent, sir. _Very insistent_.” He looks meaningfully at Peter, who takes a moment to re-evaluate the reddish burn mark between the other man’s eyes.

“…Wha’s innit?”

“It’s just our usual with an umbrella. You think we get many girly broads here?” At that, the waiter returns to the bar.

Peter stares at the drink. Beads of condensation coalesce and slide down the sides of the glass. He seems to come to a decision. “I’m goin’ to go talk to him.”

“Need any backup?” Rocket offers.

“Naw. I’ll be right back, guys. This conversation is’a long time comin’ anyways.”

Peter grabs the drink and makes his way towards Yondu with the gait of a convicted man walking towards the gallows.

When he approaches Yondu, he places the untouched drink between them and sits down. “What’re ya doin’ here? Where’s Kraglin an’ everybody else?”

“Can’t a man buy a drink for his boy?”

“You’re not my father,” Peter points out.

Yondu takes a sip of his drink. “Tha’s debateable.”

Peter just rolls his eyes. He knows what Yondu’s getting at, but he’s annoyed, and the alcohol has loosened both his tongue and his judgement. “S’not. Have no idea who he was, but he had to ‘ave been better’n you. Couldn’t’a been worse.”

Yondu’s expression darkens. “Ya want ta take this outside?”

Peter stands and lets Yondu lead the way out, following him into an adjacent alley.

Once there, Yondu turns and abruptly shoves Peter against a dumpster. He manages to stay on unsteady feet.

“I can’t believe ya, boy. I fed ya. I clothed ya. When my boys tried ta eat ya, I stopped ‘em.”

“So what? Ya want’a medal? You kidnapped me!”

“You ungrateful lil’ fucker. Ya want to have it out right here, son?”

“I’m not yer son!” Peter shouts as he takes a drunken swing at Yondu.

Yondu easily blocks it and returns a punch to Peter’s face. Peter staggers back, holding his stinging cheek, before throwing himself headlong into Yondu.

When it’s over, Yondu has split knuckles and a bruised chin (from a lucky shot, he would later claim), while Peter is similarly bruised but with a limp from when Yondu had swept his feet and he had fallen badly on his tailbone. Yondu had also kicked his hip when he went down.

They stand, winded and wounded, regarding each other. Yondu speaks first.

“No matter where ya go, Quill, I’ll always be yer daddy.”

 

* * *

 

“Do you think we should have let Quill go off on his own with Blue? He must still be pretty pissed off about Xandar.” Rocket asks. They had watched Quill go over, exchange a few words with Yondu, then leave the bar in his company. That had been a long fifteen minutes ago. Rocket promises himself he’ll give it another five before he starts tracking them down himself.

“Peter requested it. I think he wanted some privacy to work out the end of their arrangement. He is perfectly capable of taking care of himself.” Gamora says, but she checks the clock for what seems like the twentieth time in Peter’s short absence.

“I don’t know. Blue could have had his Ravager buddies ambush him outside. He doesn’t seem the type to let Quill just walk without a fight.” Rocket elaborates. Four minutes to go before he busts out of here, blasters at the ready, to rescue his rather-naïve friend from his violent (ex?)-lover. Really, why Peter would trust Blue not to pull something underhanded is beyond him.

“I don’t think Yondu would do such a thing. A father would not harm his son so.” Drax says as if it was obvious.

“What? Quill is not his son!” Rocket rakes his paw through the fur on his head. Drax could be dense, but damn.

“Then why does Yondu express such concern for him?” Drax looks mystified. He knows Rocket and Gamora didn’t have the best childhoods but to read such nefarious intentions into what was clearly fatherly attention was quite the stretch.

Rocket stares dumbfounded at the other man. “What are you talk-“

He never finishes setting Drax straight because at that moment, Quill re-enters the bar, panting and sweaty, with a pronounced limp. He staggers over to their table.

“Peter! Are you okay?” Gamora takes in his battered appearance and the way he seems to be favoring his backside, like he and Yondu had gotten into a _compromising_ situation outside and Peter had ended up on the bottom-end of that encounter.

Quill falls into his seat, grimacing when he jostles his injuries.

“Yondu jus’ doesn’t know when to quit. Got ta hand it to ‘im, though. For an old man, he can still move,” He rubs his lower back against the pain. Yondu must have been really pissed this time, but at least there will be no permanent damage. He always knew just how far to push it before he crippled Peter. He glances over at Gamora. _Huh, is she greener than usual?_

“Peter, I know it’s not my place, but I don’t think this… relationship with Yondu is particularly healthy.”

“Ya think I don’t know that?” Peter blurts out, gingerly adjusting in his seat to avoid the forming bruises. That’s going to sting in the morning. Gamora looks ill and Rocket’s frown deepens at the motion.

“Then why…”

“I’ve tried ta leave many times, but he always tracks me down. Don’t get me wrong, he’s gotten me outta some trouble, but sometimes, I jus’ want ta leave and be on my own. Go my path without ‘im.” Peter leans his head forward into one hand, waving the other in explanation. “I know our relationship is kind of fucked up, but he did raise me. Picked me up when I was eight. He’s not so bad all considering, but sometimes he gets a bug up his ass an’ thinks he has to take care o’ me.”

“You shouldn’t feel obligated to continue a relationship with him,” Gamora says, kindly.

“He’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to a father.”

That does not make it better. If anything, that makes it worse. Gamora remembers being young and scared when Thanos had killed her entire family and stolen her away to become his “daughter.” She had been willing to do anything to avoid his wrath, fighting and dismantling Nebula piece by piece to avoid the same fate. Although her relationship with Thanos had never included a sexual component, Gamora could see how Peter had no choice in the type of relationship he had with his abusive adoptive father. At such a young age, Peter had to make a decision to comply or die, and he had rationalized it all as normal to protect his fragile psyche. Peter had only done what he needed to do to survive.

Rocket looks scandalized. “That’s fucked u– Ow!“ Gamora elbows him in the ribs. _The woman does not know her own strength,_ Rocket thinks as he rubs his side. _Ouch_.

“Peter… Is there anything we can do to help?” She asks instead.

“Another drink would be nice.”

Later, Rocket sits in front of the radio. He knows Quill said he could take care of it himself, but the man was obviously outmatched against his captor-turned-lover. Rocket understood. Yondu had caught Quill when he was a young, impressionable cub. It was insidious, downright cruel, to turn Quill’s mind against his best interests to satisfy some sick sexual kink of Yondu’s. Rocket knew what it felt like to be trapped and unable to escape your tormentors. His had been a physical cage, but in a way, Quill was captive in an even more unbreakable mental prison. His friend was so messed up, he couldn’t even see the open door to freedom before him. But Rocket could see it, and he only needed to give him a little push in the right direction.

He opens the call log, and selects Yondu’s number. Rocket promises himself to remain civil, calm, and collected. Yondu answers almost immediately, but his face falls when he sees it’s only the raccoon.

_Civil. Calm. Collected._

“Hey asshole, Stay the fuck away from Quill,” Rocket snarls at the screen.

“What you say to me?”

“You heard me. Your ‘relationship’ is done.”

Yondu scowls then says quietly, “Quill know yer callin’?”

“Yeah,” Rocket lies smoothly, “And he doesn’t want to see you anymore, Blue, so back off.”

“Yer lyin’, rat. If Quill wanted me gone, he’d say it to my face. He wouldn’t send you. The boy’s an idiot, but he ain’t no coward. I know what this is. You just want ‘im all to yerself. You and Greenie and the big guy. Well, he’s mine, rat. I stole ‘im first, fair and square.”

“Yeah? Well, he’s my bitch now!”

Rocket hangs up and resolves to protect Quill, like he had in the Kyln.

Prison rules it is then.

 

* * *

 

Over the next month, Rocket and Gamora team up to shield Quill from further contact with Yondu. They intercept all communications, return packages, and try to distract Peter from how long it’s been since he and Yondu had their falling out. If they feel a bit guilty interfering with Peter’s life, all they have to do to dispel any doubt they are doing the right thing is to recall that night at the bar when Peter, broken in body and spirit, explained how he had tried to escape Yondu multiple times only to be pulled back in by whatever shame binds him to his captor.

They were doing so well until Yondu’s lone M-ship pulled right alongside the Milano and Peter begrudgingly allowed him to interface and board.

Peter greets Yondu in the docking area: “What are you doing here?”

“All my packages got returned, and ya never call no more. Just wanted to make sure you was still alive is all.”

“Well, I’m alive, so you can go.”

Yondu looks as if he is about to say something, when Rocket comes up behind Quill and slaps his ass. Peter jumps in surprise. “You see this? This is mine now. Back off, Blue!” Having just entered the area, Gamora and Drax freeze. _Did Rocket just say…?_

Peter is the first to recover. “What the fuck, Rocket!”

“Shut up, Quill. This is between me and yer ex-Daddy,” Rocket says to Quill, but he’s staring at Yondu, arms crossed, teeth bared. He needs to show this asshole that Quill’s his bitch, and no one fucks with what’s his.

Yondu only responds blandly, “Quill, I don’t right care who ya fuckin’, but ya need to control yer man before I beat the ever-livin’ shit outta ‘im.”

“What! He’s not my–“ Quill starts to say.

Yondu cuts him off with a raised hand. “And ya should keep that kind o’ talk confined to the bedroom. Fun’s fun, but this is public. Yer nobody’s bitch. I didn’t raise ya like that, nor did I teach ya to give up a four-billion-credit score for free.” Yondu says that last part with some heat.

Peter picks up on it right away. “This about Xandar?”

“Course this is ‘bout Xandar, son! You just gave the Orb to Nova Prime? For free? That ain’t how I raised ya. What the fuck were ya thinkin’, boy? Tryin’ to impress the rat or maybe Greenie here with yer self-sacrificin’ hero bullshit?” He waves an arm in Gamora’s direction. “Heroics don’t pay the bills!”

Yondu closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, hand on his hip. “Guess it’s my fault fer always coverin’ yer daily expenses fer ya, and lettin’ ya spend all yer earnin’s on hookers and booze.” He looks up directly at Peter, “Never learned the value of a credit.”

“It’s always important to teach children fiscal responsibility,” Drax says sagely.

“See. This guy gits it.” Finally, one of Quill’s fool friends is talking sense.

“Wait, so you’ve been sending Peter gifts and money because you were worried about him?” Gamora inquires, being the last to get over her shock of the last few minutes.

“Worried is a strong word, Greenie. More like making sure the damned fool doesn’t die of something stupid like starvation or exposure. My boy ain’t going out like that. Bad for my reputation.”

“You sent him condoms and lube. Who does that?” Rocket exclaims.

“Hope ya got some use out of them,” Yondu quips to the raccoon before turning back to Peter. “Quill, remember when you got that rash on yer dick from that Easik woman. The one with the skin so scaly ya couldn’t see she was infected?”

“That was 15 years ago, and it was just the one time!” Peter blurts out. If he murders Yondu right now and knocks out everyone else, perhaps he can convince them that they had a hysterical shared dream projected by a hive mind nemesis.

“At least doc could treat that. What if it had been somethin’ permanent, like a kid? That’s the worst STD right there. You need to wrap it up every time, son.”

“Yondu!” Peter blushes and glances at Gamora momentarily, forgetting he’s talking to a grade-A asshole.

Yondu exploits the new information. “What? You angling fer a threeway and don’t want me spillin’ yer secrets to Greenie?”

Peter buries his head in his hands. He wants to die, just have the entire ship depressurize and swallow him whole into the black. It can’t get any worse.

Yondu addresses Gamora. “Don’t worry. Kid’s clean last time I had ‘im checked, though it’s been about four months or so. Can’t say where he’s been since. Quill could never keep it in his pants or at least stick it to one lay fer more than a week.”

Spoke too soon. Peter shrivels impossibly more. Yondu advances on him.

“By the way, stealin’ from me? That took stones, but don’t ever do that again, boy,” Yondu cuffs the back of his head. “And next time, make sure ya git paid. None of this ‘pro bono’ shit. I didn’t raise no martyr.”

He continues, “And would it kill ya ta call every once in a while. Let me know yer alive. I’d hate ta think I stopped m’boys from eatin’ ya only to have ya get eaten by a ravenous bilgesnipe. Waste of good meat right there.”

“Okay, fine! Yes, I’ll call. Just… go away now,” Peter says weakly. He regrets ever letting Yondu on the ship. Peter views him with suspicion. The asshole probably embarrassed him on purpose to get Peter to call him more often.

“Kids these days. No ‘preciation.”

“It’s a thankless job,” Drax commiserates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay Tuned for the After-Credits Scene


	2. After-Credits Scene: Call Me Maybe

Peter hovers over Yondu’s number on the radio for a good ten seconds before pressing it. He might as well get this over with.

“Hey Quill, I saw whatchu did over at Taala.”

“Yeah, those monks sure were grateful.”

“Right, right… so, yer lookin’ a little thin, boy.”

Peter knows what Yondu is insinuating. He is almost certain that monks don’t pay well. Peter sighs. “Well, you know what they say, the camera removes ten pounds.”

“Ain’t nobody say that.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure they do.”

“Figured yer pals weren’t feedin’ ya, so I sent ya some more ration bars.”

“You really don’t have to do that. I already have two extra boxes.”

“Don’t like that flavor no more?”

“Not when I’ve been eating two a day for the past five weeks and I still have a backlog to go through.”

“I’ll send ya a pizza then. Where are ya right now?”

“I’m not telling you our exact location.”

“Still in Andromeda Galaxy, coordinates C188UN08-FR985637-735460R7?”

“…No?” Quill tries to look innocent but fails. A look of realization sweeps his face. “Wait. Did you track this call?”

“You should really time yer calls, son. The way ya prattle on, the enemy could git the drop on you. Still like cured yurkle on yer pizza?”

Quill hangs up without answering.

When two large pizzas with extra cured yurkle arrive thirty minutes later, Drax loudly complains that it will ruin everyone’s appetite for his Chef’s special: boiled orloni with orange mystery sauce.

The Guardians opt to tuck into the pizza instead. Peter joins them, but he chews spitefully.


End file.
